


Stamp

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Ficlet, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel can’t wait for her omega to arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stamp

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “alpha!Tauriel to throw beta/omega!Kili on the ground and ride him” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19135757#t19135757).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s nothing she can do to save herself. She _tries_ , writhes and fidgets and squirms, kicking the blankets away and running her hands all over her trembling skin, but now that she’s chosen a mate, her own efforts just won’t do. All she can think of is _Kíli_. When she shuts her eyes, she can see his dark waves spread out along her pillow, his chiseled jaw open, pink tongue waiting for her. She thinks of his compact muscles and his soft fat and the thickness of his hands, and it makes her whine like a dying animal, thrashing all about her bed. 

Others have offered to sooth her, naturally, but the pretty elves of the Greenwood have never called much to her. She wants _her dwarf_ , her man, her _mate_. She’s wet from just the thought of him, warm and quivering, but the thought isn’t nearly enough. 

Then suddenly, she gets a whiff of something, out of nowhere, thin and tantalizing. Her head jerks up, sniffing. There’s _something_. She can feel the faint tingling of pheromones cloying at her, like a song woven for her ears alone. She crawls to the foot of her bed, then slips one leg off it, drawing her green, silken robe tight around her. She wouldn’t leave her quarters in it under usual circumstances, but her heat’s left her no room for dignity. Once she’s made the decision to follow, her steps are quick. She’s at the door in a heartbeat, shoving it wide open. 

Meludir looks sharply around at her, eyes bigger than usual. He instantly stammers, “T-Tauriel! Your time has not passed—there is no need to return to duty. Your chosen will be sent to you as soon as he arrives—”

He’s barely gotten the words out when she snaps, “That will not be necessary.” She can’t wait a moment longer. Meludir, obviously on watch duty over her quarters, opens his mouth only to close it. She marches right past him. She outranks him in every way—strength, position, fealty to their king—and he doesn’t follow. She pointedly ignores every other elf she passes, making her way swiftly to the gates. 

The air’s cold with just her robe around her, and it’s strange to have her legs bare, the thin fabric fluttering about her thighs. It isn’t worth going back, and she’s not sure she could fumble her way into clothes like this. She feels like she’s going mad, her mind scrambling as it focuses in on just one thing that she can’t have. But she _needs_ it. As soon as she’s through the tall doors of Thranduil’s keep, a guard steps out of place to meet her. Her return stare is burning, daring him to stop her—she’s the captain of the guards, and she’ll leave when she chooses. Feren hesitates. He’s a beta, her an alpha, and her hormones have left her fiercer than ever. 

“Tauriel, you are afflicted,” he tries to tell her, quiet so as not to carry. She doesn’t answer. It’s not an affliction. It affects them all. It’s a natural part of them. At her level gaze, Feren sighs. He removes a knife from his waist, offering it forward. “At least be armed. These are trying times.”

She takes the knife simply to move this along, tucks it into her sash and insists, “I could crush the foes of this forest in my sleep, and you know that well.” He bows his head in acquiescence, and she turns, rushing on. 

As soon as she’s over the stone bridge, Tauriel’s running. She races across the grass, leaping over roots like a wild elk, boiling down to sheer instinct that seems to mold the forest to her will. She never once trips, doesn’t get in the way of a single branch, nor even cuts her bare feet. She runs like she never has, because she’s sure of it now; it’s _Kíli_ she can smell him, and she _wants_ him more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. Her hair whips back past her, a splash of fire amidst the otherwise green smudge she becomes. If guards are following her for protection, they’ll be hard pressed to keep up, because Tauriel _flies_.

She can sense him. There’s a spark in her. Their connection. She can _feel_ it broiling beneath her skin, and her breath comes quicker and quicker, not from exertion but _need_ , her hands clenching in lieu of running through his hair—she barely sees the forest around her, because her world’s narrowing down, her mind a constant image of him, his scent thick in her hose, his taste watering in her mouth—she can’t stand for them to be apart; she’s _incomplete_ , and he’s the other part of her, just waiting to fill her up, take her to the bliss she’s just on the edge of, and she breaks out of the trees with the speed of an eagle. 

She barrels right into him, not clumsy but _pouncing_. She’s poised for his embrace even before she has a clear view of him. Then her hands are on his shoulders, her legs intertwining with his, her weight tossing him down. He hits the ground with a startled cry, his beautiful eyes wide up at her, mouth open in a perfect little ‘o.’ She’s distantly aware of others behind him—his brother and another dwarf she locked up once, but they get no more mind than that. She moans, “ _Kíli_ ,” and slams her mouth down into his.

It’s just as perfect as she remembers. She’s merciless, holding them tight together, his wet lips already parted for her, so her tongue can slip into his mouth and tangle around his tongue. He’s stunned, then pushes back, because he’s a dwarf and he’s feisty, but then he submits, because he’s an omega and he’s _hers_. She dominates the kiss, weaves a hand into his hair and cradles his skull while she grinds him into the grass and dirt. He tastes like crushed spices. His stubble scratches her, longer than the last time they embraced, and she nuzzles it with her bare chin, switching angles on the kiss, because she wants to _feel_ that scratch that makes him _Kíli_. She splays her longer body over his, arms and legs to either side of him while he lies, arching lewdly up, beneath her. Each time she rolls into him, his hips jerk back to meet her. By the time she releases his mouth, she can feel the hard bulge in his trousers, eager to meet her. 

Without looking at the others, Tauriel growls, “Leave us.” Once, she’d had more wish to meet his family, to immerse herself in another culture and learn. But now the heat’s left her possessive, and having others about, even when they’re no competition, makes her bristle. 

Dazedly, Kíli rolls his head back, muttering, “Can we... um... get a little privacy?”

“Right here?” One of them asks, his voice similar to Kíli’s—his brother, certainly—but not alike enough to rouse Tauriel’s interest. 

Kíli starts to answer, but Tauriel snaps over him, “Right here, right now. I will take you back later, but first I _must have you_ , I _need_ you, _Kíli_...” His name is an erotic whimper that she moves with, her hips grinding hard along his waist. Kíli moans, closes his pretty eyes and tosses his head back. He’s so _handsome_. It makes her melt. It makes her _so wet_. Once she’s started grinding into him, she can’t stop. The smell of him is all over. She’s bathing in it, in him. When he lifts his hands tentatively towards her waist, she grabs his wrists and slams them down, marveling at how thick they are in her grasp. But she’s _stronger_. She pins him, _owning_ him, and she lowers again, pleased when he leans up in response, keening for a kiss. 

The others go, though where, she doesn’t bother to look. It doesn’t matter. She’s not even sure what part of the forest they’re in. She will take him back, when she’s finished, but right now she can’t even entertain the thought of getting up. She bites at his chin, then his cheek, then kisses him hard and runs a greedy tongue down his neck, nuzzling closer to just _inhale_ him. 

“I missed you,” Kíli mumbles, wanton and already breathless. Tauriel mewls her answer. She missed him _so much._

She can’t stop licking and sucking and kissing him, even as she fumbles with his clothes, trying to undress him but distracted—she keeps stopping just to smooth her palms across his plump skin, curl her fists and pluck at his dark hair, run teasing fingertips around all his bumps and stretch marks and the oddities that make him _him_. She’s mapped it all before, but she marvels in it again like it’s brand new. She wrestles the laces from his tunic, from his trousers, unfastens his coat and pushes all the fabric away, wrenching off his boots so hard that he slides down the earth. 

When he’s left to nothing, she wants to pull back to look at him, but can’t. She keeps kissing him, petting down his stomach and running along his thighs, while he murmurs between their mouths, “Tauriel, _please_.”

“I love you,” Tauriel tells him, “I love you, Kíli, I love you.” Kíli tries to mirror it, but he cuts off with a cry when she wraps one hand around his hard cock. It throbs in her hand, broad and veined in Dwarven fashion. She squeezes it just to make him gasp, and then she’s lifting over it, glad she hasn’t bothered with panties. 

She’s so wet for him that she’s leaking down her thighs. She’s needed this far too long, her heat sending her into overdrive. Her robes part around her open legs too easily for there to be any need to rip it off. She gets a strange enjoyment out of the dichotomy: her fully dressed and him lying naked on the bed of his cloak. She rubs the head of his cock once down her lips, just to feel the press of it everywhere, and then she’s centering him and pushing down. 

He groans instantly, trying to buck up, but she’s there to hold him down. Her knees dig through the green to the dirt, delicate skin scraping as she tenses her legs, bracing herself, forcing her body to take him slow. She wants to savour the moment. But she can’t take it long. The feel of his ripe cock parting her quivering walls is too much. Her channel sucks at him, needing more. So she gives in, dropping down suddenly, taking the rest of him right up inside her in one go. She screams at the rush of pure pleasure, his girth, his heat, and she has to force her eyes open to look at him: he’s _gorgeous._ He looks delirious already. He might be a mere mortal, but the elves are wrong about his kind. He feels _perfect_ inside her, and she loves her fat little Dwarven lover with all her heart. 

She leans down to kiss him once more, her hands gripping tight to his shoulders and her body crumpling to fit, weight still firm on his middle. Each time she moves, he brushes a different spot, his cock caressing different walls. She clenches, claws at him, deliberately quivers. His hips seem to buck into her beyond his control, but Tauriel’s strong enough to keep him down with just her thighs. He lets her fill his pert mouth with her tongue, and she bites his bottom lip when she leaves.

Then she rises. She squirms, pauses, sucks in a breath, and steadies her hands atop his chest. She gives his tits a little squeeze, mostly flat across but somewhat risen off his ribs, soft between her fingers. There’s a thick smattering of hair all down him, so much different than her own pale, empty skin. She drinks in those details, and it overwhelms her, until she’s so drowned in lust that she can’t stand not to move. 

She rolls her body suddenly, dragging across him and clenching on the way, sucking at him _hard_ , hissing in delight as she does it again, again, harder and faster each time. Her head tosses back, hair spilling over her shoulders, until he moans and she has to see him, snapping back. His hands dart to her thighs, his meaty fingers digging in. The pressure of it just excites her more. She slides herself up and down on his cock, never letting it fully leave her, perfectly in control, even like this—she’s a woman of skill and he’s her prized steed that she rides in impeccable form. Even when it’s rough and raw.

His trembling hips can’t keep up with her, but she _makes_ him, because she’s his alpha, and her sweet omega has to follow where she guides him. She looks at his flushed face, takes in every one of his desperate noises, and it only spurs her on. She can still taste him in her mouth but stays up, riding him as hard as she can. Nothing can stop her. His cock _belongs_ inside her pussy, and she grips it tight and works it to the extreme. Her body devours his. She eats him up and gives him less than a fraction of a second to breathe, then slams back down every time to swallow him up again, chew him hard and spit him out.

Kíli _loves_ every minute of it. She can see it, smell it: his pheromones are just scattered pleasure. His whole body is shaken with the force of her thrusts. His eyes are dilated, lashes lowered, mouth stuck open, and she wants to fill it but is busy pounding his ass into the ground. Her hands start to roam over him, groping along the way: his stomach, his chest, his neck, his shoulders. She wants to taste every part of him. 

He finishes first. He tenses abruptly beneath her, only for his cock to spurt a sticky jet inside her, one that doesn’t stop her in the slightest. She’s already soaking wet, and she lets his seed add to that, sloshing up inside her and trying to dribble out the sides, only to be pounded in deeper by his cock. His fingers squeeze all the tighter into her thighs, but she’s strong and takes it, still busy riding her own pleasure. Kíli’s scream is just one long, drawn out, desire-ridden plea. It dies as he comes down, his hips shuddering to an eventual stop, until his body’s lying still below her, only wracked with her efforts.

She just keeps going. Even after she’s milked out everything he has, she uses his deflating cock. He whimpers and squirms but lets her, gasping beautifully, “T... Tauriel...”

When she finishes, it’s a burst of fire that pervades every part of her. She screams, feral and loud, letting the whole forest know that she’s claimed Kíli irreparably as _hers_. Her juices bubble around him, and she takes him right through it. Her head thins, spinning from the pleasure, and her world narrows down to _him_ , her sense of weight, heat, sight all leaving her for that brief moment. Everything is _Kíli_.

Then she’s melting, coming slowly down. She pauses, sucking at him but not slamming onto him. He’s panting hard, and her chest is heaving, but she still _wants him_. Her heat hasn’t past. She looks at his face, at his open mouth. She knows she can’t ride his cock as much as she wants to—he’s mortal. But he licks his lips and mumbles, “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

Another time, Tauriel might raise a brow at the crude suggestion. For now, she just nods, smiling wide and sitting up, letting him go just to shuffle up his body and fill his waiting mouth with all their juices.


End file.
